Ken raised his three sons in a squeaky-clean suburb of Los Angeles. He envisioned fatherhood as coaching their sports teams, taking them to church (where he was the pastor), and visiting colleges one day. Instead, he got an education on the street names of opioids, fluency in rehab vernacular, and an insider’s view of the California prison system, when his middle son, Lucas, accidentally killed a man with his car while high on heroin.
Ken was tormented by doubt. What did I do wrong as a dad? Will my son ever be okay? Will my marriage survive this trauma?
Estranged from his son, Ken strived to rebuild their relationship. Face-to-face visits made them feel like they were in a fishbowl and phone calls were interrupted with inmates screaming. Letter writing turned out to be the best way to connect. Writing the letters proved cathartic for Ken. And they were clarifying for Lucas, as he made sense of losing his way, ultimately writing a heart-wrenching apology to the widow of his victim.
The written word became the perfect medium for a father to reconnect with his son—and himself.
Ken is most revealing, however, about the impact all this had on his faith. To go from the podium to the back pew and then out the back door disoriented him. How could he redefine his faith outside the four walls of religion?
With a distinct voice and disarming honesty, Letters to My Son in Prison offers a candid snapshot of fatherhood, a refreshing take on marriage, and a creative vision of faith.
Book Bubbles from Letters to my Son in Prison
Long relationships know the ricochet of blame and the circularity of grace. I will do plenty in my life to deserve blame. And if I want grace, then I need to give it. Don't be arrogant, Ken. Don't allow the log in your eye to get in the way of removing the splinter in my partner's. Be humble.
I'm not proud of it, but at this moment I wished I'd never had kids. The pain and heartache they'd brought me was enormous. But to put it in a book...to admit it...to unforbid a thought...I was nervous. All three of my sons read this section and said pretty much the same thing, "Yup, we were assholes and I would have hated me too." Other parents have read it and whispered to me: "I'm glad you said that...I've thought it often." Sometimes admitting a forbidden thought takes all the sting out of it. It has for me.
We had some challenges with our three sons. Major stuff. But when my wife said this (excerpt), everything became clear. I could not lose her along with my sons. I would have been bereft. So I did what I needed to do and did what she needed me to do. And we made it. And our sons made it. But I will never, ever, forget this moment or this insight or this feeling of clarity.
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